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The idle flag that waves,
When Conquest with his iron heel,

Treads down the standards and the steel
That belt the soil of slaves!

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.
(b 1819 d 1891).

"His magic was not far to seek,

He was so human! Whether strong or weak,
Far from his kind he neither sank nor soared,
But sate an equal guest at every board:
No beggar ever felt him condescend,
No prince presume; for still himself he bare
At manhood's simple level, and where'er
He met a stranger, there he left a friend."

THE FOUNTAIN.

Into the sunshine,

Full of the light,
Leaping and flashing
From morn till night;

Into the moonlight,

Whiter than snow,
Waving so flower-like

When the winds blow;

Into the starlight

Rushing in spray,

Happy at midnight,

Happy by day;

Ever in motion,

Blithesome and cheery,
Still climbing heavenward,

Never aweary;

Glad of all weathers,

Still seeming best,
Upward or downward,
Motion thy rest;

Full of a nature

Nothing can tame,
Changed every moment,
Ever the same;

Ceaseless aspiring,

Ceaseless content,

Darkness or sunshine
Thy element;

Glorious fountain,

Let my heart be

Fresh, changeful, constant,
Upward, like thee!

YUSSOUF.

A stranger came one night to Yussouf's tent,
Saying, "Behold one outcast and in dread,
Against whose life the bow of power is bent,
Who flies, and hath not where to lay his head;

I come to thee for shelter and for food,

To Yussouf, called through all our tribes 'The Good.""

"This tent is mine," said Yussouf, "but no more Than it is God's; come in, and be at peace;

Freely shalt thou partake of all my store

As I of His who buildeth over these

Our tents His glorious roof of night and day,
And at whose door none ever yet heard Nay."

So Yussouf entertained his guest that night,
And, waking him ere day, said: "Here is gold;
My swiftest horse is saddled for thy flight;
Depart before the prying day grow bold."
As one lamp lights another, nor grows less,
So nobleness enkindleth nobleness.

That inward light the stranger's face made grand,
Which shines from all self-conquest; kneeling low,
He bowed his forehead upon Yussouf's hand,
Sobbing: "O Sheik, I cannot leave thee so;
I will repay thee; all this thou hast done
Unto that Ibrahim who slew thy son!"

"Take thrice the gold," said Yussouf, "for with thee Into the desert, never to return,

My one black thought shall ride away from me;
First-born, for whom by day and night I yearn,
Balanced and just are all of God's decrees;
Thou art avenged, my first-born, sleep in peace!"

LEAVING THE MATTER OPEN.

A TALE BY HOMER WILBUR, A.M.

FROM "THE BIGLOW PAPERS".

Two brothers once, an ill-matched pair,
Together dwelt (no matter where),
To whom an Uncle Sam, or some one,
Had left a house and farm in common.
The two in principles and habits
Were different as rats from rabbits:

Stout Farmer North, with frugal care,
Laid up provision for his heir,

Not scorning with hard sun-browned hands
To scrape acquaintance with his lands;
Whatever thing he had to do

He did, and made it pay him, too;
He sold his waste stone by the pound,
His drains made water-wheels spin round,
His ice in summer-time he sold,

His wood brought profit when 'twas cold,
He dug and delved from morn till night,
Strove to make profit square with right,
Lived on his means, cut no great dash,
And paid his debts in honest cash.

On t'other hand, his brother South
Lived very much from hand to mouth,
Played gentleman, nursed dainty hands,
Borrowed North's money on his lands,
And culled his morals and his graces
From cock-pits, bar-rooms, fights, and races;
His sole work in the farming line

Was keeping droves of long-legged swine,
Which brought great bothers and expenses
To North in looking after fences,

And, when they happened to break through,
Cost him both time and temper too,
For South insisted it was plain

He ought to drive them home again,
And North consented to the work
Because he loved to buy cheap pork.

Meanwhile, South's swine increasing fast,
His farm became too small at last;
So, having thought the matter over,
And feeling bound to live in clover
And never pay the clover's worth,
He said one day to Brother North:

"Our families are both increasing,
And, though we labour without ceasing,
Our produce soon will be too scant
To keep our children out of want;
They who wish fortune to be lasting
Must be both prudent and forecasting;
We soon shall need more land; a lot
I know, that cheaply can be bo't;
You lend the cash, I'll buy the acres,
And we'll be equally partakers."

Poor North, whose Anglo-Saxon blood
Gave him a hankering after mud,
Wavered a moment, then consented,
And, when the cash was paid, repented;
To make the new land worth a pin,
Thought he, it must be all fenced in,
For, if South's swine once get the run on't
No kind of farming can be done on't;
If that don't suit the other side,
'Tis best we instantly divide.

But somehow South could ne'er incline
This way or that to run the line,
And always found some new pretence
'Gainst setting the division fence;
At last he said:

"For peace's sake,

Liberal concessions I will make;
Though I believe, upon my soul,
I've a just title to the whole,
I'll make an offer which I call

Gen'rous, we'll have no fence at all;
Then both of us, whene'er we choose,
Can take what part we want to use,
If you should chance to need it first,
Pick you the best, I'll take the worst."

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